


On Forest Floor, My Fawn

by snarry_splitpea



Series: Onward, My Fawn [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Begging, Clothed Sex, Coming In Pants, Crying, Daddy Kink, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex, Spanking, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 18:32:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8764333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarry_splitpea/pseuds/snarry_splitpea
Summary: This is a SEQUEL to "On Shaking Legs, My Fawn"Percival Graves can't let guilt and fear of discovery stop him from drawing out Credence's pleasure. The two leave their alley for an afternoon at a speakeasy. (Spanking tagged as a warning because it's referenced.  I'll try to include more of it in the next installment, though!)





	

Grindelwald wore a different face every time they met.  Smiling through the kind eyes of a beautiful woman, the man reached over the luncheon table for Graves's hand.  Without thinking, Percival pulled away.

"I don't know what form to take, with you..." Grindelwald mused as he took a sip of champagne. "Perhaps an ugly bowl-cut with a nice, malnourished pallor?"

Graves had learned to keep his mind and face guarded around his leader.  The man might be their future savior, but Graves had gleaned through his treatment of others that Grindelwald was also a master manipulator.  His spells erring just shy of dark magic.  His methods, far too often, involving death when stealth or espionage could have gotten better results.

Graves, though he hid it well, had started to fear the man.  

The worshipful stoicism he feigned for the president was the same mask he wore for Grindelwald.  The perfect mask to make leaders think him a quick-witted sycophant. Loyal to a fault simply because his only desire was to keep order and please higher ups. This mask helped Graves quickly become something of a confidante for the boastful Grindelwald.  Having to stay in hiding was having an affect on the foreign wizard.  After all, he thrived on showing off. On praise.

Graves realized, with some guilt, that if he worshiped anyone, it was Credence.  Poor Credence.  So young and so new to the world's pleasures.  What a shackle Graves's attention must be. What a sheltered soul the Barebone boy was to not recognize the weight of his lover's adoration.  True adoration.

He would give Credence everything.  Deny him nothing.  Grindelwald, with his need to be worshiped by his followers, could never know that.  Percival threw more barriers around his own mind.  Convincing the wizard with a witch's face that he'd only ever used Credence for pleasure.

* * *

It had warmed Percival's heart the first time he heard Credence laugh.  Not the shy chuckles that bubbled out of him from time to time when they witnessed something amusing like an alley cat falling into an open trashcan.  This was barking, guffawing, stomach-clutching laughter.  Loud and divinely mirthful.  Unrestrained by the social norms people usually learned as children.  Because how would a boy that never smiled learn the right way to laugh?

With a half-cocked grin, Graves pulled out his wand and threw a silencing spell around them.  All they needed was a curious passerby to turn into the alley to see what all the ruckus was about.  At least they'd finally found a spot with no windows above and entry from only one side.  Easier to keep an eye out.  

What they did in the shadows wasn't exactly legal.  Not that they had ever outright fucked one another.  Graves tried valiantly to err on the side of the law by not taking his pants off.  Not taking Credence home with him. But there wasn't a judge alive that would believe or even care that the two of them restrained themselves to only clothed frotting and quick handjobs if they were caught doing either.

The laughter had been inspired by a joke Graves cracked.  Something that was, likely, not as funny as Credence thought it was.  Nobody ever laughed at Percival's sense of humor.  People always turned and awkwardly stared at him for a few miserable seconds before changing the subject.  It was one reason why he rarely said anything at all.  At least Tina usually huffed out an amused breath at his words, but even she, he assumed, only pitied him.

"You're," Credence paused. His laughter fizzling out and a frown forming on his face.  He struggled to give compliments.  Had always been rebuffed or punished when saying something nice.  In a whisper. "...funny. I like it.  ...if it matters what I like."

Graves tried to hold his lopsided smile.  A smile he was sure looked uncomfortable no matter how much effort he put into straightening it out. He was, after all, unaccustomed to the expression.  Often asked if he was ill when he finally tried to use it.

Thankfully, Credence seemed to warm at the upturned corners of his lips.  Had he been around enough people to read different kinds of smiles?  Graves wondered if he was being selfish only meeting his young lover in dark alleys.  Selfish for drawing out his seed and wading through his mind but never letting the boy truly touch him.  Selfish for not showing Credence handsome men and women his own age.  Wouldn't it be healthier for Graves to simply facilitate Credence's introduction to the outside world instead of commandeering all his free time?

Credence reached out to touch Grave's wand-hand.  Let his fingers slide up to feel the wooden rod and marvel at its polish. Graves looked at the admiring eyes and turned the wand in his own fingers to let it roll across Credence's palm.  Let the boy hold it because he trusted the boy that much, at least.

He wasn't being selfish.  What Credence loved was magic.  What he wanted was magic.  Graves was magic and had let go of his fear of no-majs a long time ago.  He could do this.  Make this boy happy.

Take him out of the slums.  Out of dark alleys.

But where could they go?  An old gay wizard with a young no-maj... He couldn't take him anywhere remotely magical and the only no-maj places he knew were shady speakeasies.  At least Credence was of age.  At least Graves knew of one speakeasy that pretended to be more of a cafe than a nightclub.  He considered it.

"Are you hungry, Credence?"

Credence blinked at him. Thin, pink tongue darting out to lick at his lips as he thought of an answer. Graves watched it slowly slide back into Credence's mouth with  throbbing need uncurling in his belly. "I'm... I want..."

"You want?" Graves asked.  He looked down as Credence placed his wand into its hidden pocket.  He hadn't realized the boy had been that observant. 

Credence then pressed his body against Percival's, his hips rolling from side to side so that the older man could feel the stab of his hard cock.  Graves tsked at himself as his body responded to the implication.  His dear boy had waited patiently for him.  Was aroused by his presence.  Wanted his touch.

Lately, Graves's visits hadn't been daily.  People started to ask questions at work about his mid-day absences and Credence had a hard time getting away from his home after dinner.  This was a Saturday.  No work for Percival.  No church for Credence.  He'd left the Barebone home under the pretense of buying new shoes for his youngest sister.  A task that might take a few minutes or a few hours since cobblers might have a set ready or ask the boy to wait as they crafted a new pair.

They both wished they could come up with more excuses, like that.  Especially since Graves had immediately popped away to purchase ready made shoes from a department store and popped back.  He used magic to rip out the tags and buff out the embossed name of the brand.  Leaving the plain, leather mary-janes looking more like something an old man would throw together on a Saturday afternoon.

Graves put one arm around Credence, pulling him so that their hard cocks bumped against one another.  He could feel the rigid buttons on Credence's fly digging into the shaft of his own cock.  A delightful pain he ached to someday replicate with Credence's bony fingers.  Or, Merlin help him, the boy's teeth.  He kissed down the side of Credence's face.  The boy already gasping at every touch.  Mindlessly murmuring about how good everything felt.

Graves loved Credence's desperate gibberish and quick to surface tears of overstimulation.  His body was so reactive.  His words so earnest.  He was perfect.  Beautiful.  Graves had begun to tell Credence these things each time they met up.  Whispering kind words about the boy's shiny hair.  His lovely cock.

"After this, I want to take you somewhere, Credence," Percival said as he pressed his nose against the boy's neck.  Slid his fingers between their bodies to unbutton Credence's trousers.  Credence never could hold himself back for long.  Always got too heated and splattered lust down their trouser legs while tears streaked his precious face.  Sometimes, he'd fumble at Percival's clothed cock.  Hoping to be allowed to reciprocate the pleasure.  

Graves always liked that.  How Credence's unskilled hand shuddered and jerked as the boy came.  Feeling the boy lose control felt like the pinnacle of his life.  What exactly had Graves been before he met this boy?  The decades felt hazy.  Colorless.  This was what life was about.  Pleasure and beauty.  How had he never sought it out, before? How did Credence run towards it so naturally?

Credence lost his footing, as he always did.  Nearly collapsing into Grave's arms once his orgasm had ravaged all his nerves and soaked through his pinstriped trousers. Always a willing support, Graves held him up.  Batted Credence's questing hand from his own throbbing erection.  He didn't want Credence's touches to bring him off.  As long as he went home every day with his own cock hard and wanting, he could pretend that all he did was serve and give.

He could ignore all the youthful joy that had been stolen from Credence by his adoptive mother.  The time he currently stole from Credence, himself.

* * *

Graves didn't outright disguise the two of them, but he changed their clothing to match the venue.  The trappings of the idle rich.  Soft garments in jewel tones instead of the stern black they both usually wore. Shining, polished shoes. Longer hair on Credence to hide the prudish undercut.

They both wore heavy jackets and winter hats which were removed at the door.  Underneath, a sweater vest on the boy with a pressed, dress shirt. A turtleneck for Graves. Graves paid little attention to fashion, but was relieved to see, based on the small, scattered crowd inside, that he'd gotten colors and cuts correct for both their ensembles.

He'd always been praised for his perceptiveness. Was beginning to realize it was a trait he and Credence shared.

Before the scantily clad hostess could direct them to a seat, Graves indicated the table he wanted.  Back of the room.  Barely lit.  A corner where traffic wouldn't constantly pass them.  It was similar to their preferred alleys.  Dark and private.  At least, by virtue of being a table in a speakeasy, Graves could imagine it was a decent enough change of scenery.

Credence shrank away from the people laughing and chatting around tables.  Winced at the volume of the live band on the other side of the room.  Wouldn't speak to the hostess, nor the waiter when he came.  Looked around in furtive glances instead of relaxing and taking it all in.

"Are you uncomfortable?  Should we leave," Graves asked as they both took their seats across from each other at the round table.  It was large enough for a few more people though uncomfortably close to a velvet-lined wall.  The tablecloth draped nearly to the floor and the simple setting on top featured a lone flower in a small vase.  The entire cafe was bursting with plant life, so the simple tables were a nice respite from the chaos.

Credence's head snapped up at the question and he eyed the man with mild shock.  "I'm... enjoying this."

Graves tried not to ever question Credence's rare declarations.  Though they'd only known each other a few weeks and barely talked for all the kissing and touching, Percival tried to instill confidence, no matter how late in life, by trusting whatever the boy said.  Show him what it was like to be believed.  To make his own decisions and have an impact on the spaces he occupied.  Though he figured the boy was only feigning comfort for his sake, Percival could at least wait until after they'd eaten to ask anything similar.

The waiter brought them both drinks.  Alcohol.  Graves eyed the prohibited substance with suspicion.  Yes, Wizards had their equivalents, but they were mostly potions designed to have specific results for specific intervals of time.  Alcohol was a tricksome, unpredictable temptress.  Tasty, in some cases, too.  Credence sniffed at his and scrunched his nose in response to the smell.  He eyed Graves for direction.

Graves gave a slight shrug of his broad shoulders and picked up the tiny glass between two fingers.  With little preamble, the man downed his entire shot.  Giving a gruff cough at the burn.  He knew he should have discouraged Credence from following suit, but some part of him also wanted to see...

Credence swallowed a sip of the booze.  Careful.  He licked his lips and sat the glass down. "Burns, a bit."

Graves's smile lit up his face.  What a dirty trick for him to hope to see the boy have a coughing fit after his first shot of whisky.  How amusing it was to see Credence's cautious nature save him from the embarrassment.

The boy didn't say anything else.  Looked over the table at his lover's face and gave his same, shy smile. His expression faint and dreamy.  The low, flickering lighting.  The warm smells of whisky and hearty foods. The comfortable seats and fine clothes.  It all felt like a dream to Percival Graves.  He tried to forget that they couldn't stay, forever. That he couldn't sit across from this beautiful young man every day of his life.

"What is this place? You only told me to trust you and then we were here," Credence asked.  It wasn't the first time he'd apparated with the boy.  The first time he'd needed to freshen Credence's breath and clothes because the poor dear had been sick from the traveling.  The second time, Credence fainted.  He wasn't hearty enough for spells to be rattling through his body.  Graves had made the boy promise to eat more.  Take better care of his body so the magic wouldn't make him sick.  Their travel to the speakeasy had been smooth as silk.  Credence beamed as Graves thanked him for taking his advice on eating.

 "They've named it The Rainforest.  Most of these are exotic plants one would could only find along the equator," Graves explained as he gestured around the room at the foliage.  Some of it was obviously fake.  Others either real or fantastic replicas.  It was the only speakeasy he'd ever been in that wasn't in a bland, back room behind another business.  This one integrated the cover into the decor.  Some kind of flowershop on the ground floor of luxury apartments.  Whenever The Rainforest closed, at night, the plants gave the impression of a rooftop greenhouse where a wealthy resident could throw private parties.

No-maj cops, just like aurors, were advised to never bother the rich. This was a place where he and Credence, though feigning their wealth, could enjoy each other's company without worry.

"Do you have many books, Credence?"

"The bible. Some uncomfortable writings about Salem," Credence responded.  His hand going around the shot glass to bring the whisky back to his lips.

"Uncomfortable, how..." Graves stopped himself. America had been a dangerous place for magic users from the moment settlers landed their ships. "Actually, I don't think I want to know."

"Tell me about your books, Mr. Graves. Magic ones," Credence asked.  His tone just begging enough to hit the cord Percival liked.  Credence watched as Graves's eyes fell to his lips.  As Graves licked his own lips. "Or... books about... what we do, together."

Graves heart jolted at the implication. His face immediately serious. His voice stern. "Credence, we need to be discreet here. About both those things."  
  
"Why?"

"We could be punished," Graves explained.  Realizing he was becoming far too aroused by Credence's audacity to even look at the boy's face.  His guilt stabbed at him.  He was the one who had corrupted this sweet boy.  With magic and... well.

"Who, here, would tell?" Credence asked.  His tone even as he glanced around the room. Perhaps even flippant.  "The plants... they're magic, aren't they?"

Graves opened his mouth to protest.  He'd been here multiple times.  Had even met Grindelwald in this place, once.  He'd never once seen... He pushed out his senses.  Found his will blocked by something.  Perhaps hidden wards.  He touched the hilt of his wand through the pocket in his slacks to cast a charm to reveal the wards if not what they guarded.  

A waiter's head snapped up and they caught each other's eye.  With an acknowledging nod, the waiter dropped the wards for a split second and threw them back up.  The flash had been nearly blinding in its intensity. Irrigation spells hummed through the soft walls.  Sunlight spells lie dormant in the ceiling.  Dimming spells lined windows Graves had assumed were just covered with paper.  The place was practically alive with magic to anyone who was allowed in on the secret.

Graves nodded his thanks to the waiter and the man gave him a grim nod in return.  America was not a great place to be a wizard.

Graves narrowed his eyes at Credence.  For the first time and with an apology, he reached out and licked his own magic, red and sharp and sparkling down the boy's body.  To feel him at his core.  Credence shifted and moaned at the bodiless touch and Graves found the cold, lead weight of Credence's magic.  A squib?  No... there was something different, there.  Credence huffed out a breath. Closed his eyes in concentration.  

Inky.

Black.

Tentacle-like.

Disgusting ichor curled out of the leaden block that hid Credence's power.

"No," Graves said quickly. "Contain it."

The lead weight snapped shut like a steel gate.  Credence opened his eyes.  His expression solemn.  Fearful.

Percival Graves took a deep breath.  His heart split between elated and terrified.  He and Credence were both wizards!  He could teach the boy magic spells.  Find a way to have him trained, properly. Share so much more of the world with him in a way he couldn't have dreamed of with a no-maj.  

But.  

Credence was powerful. Dangerously so. Ridiculously endowed with an innate sort of magic that Graves had only ever seen in Grindelwald.  Even the power to keep a lid on such a raw gift was impressive.  Grindelwald practically glowed from a mile away despite all his efforts to go unnoticed in New York streets. Thankfully, because of the usually uncomfortable and sometimes painful intimacy of the act, people didn't just go around licking at each other's magic.

"Is Modesty your real sister?  By blood?" Graves asked.  He tried his best to seem lighter.  As if they were changing the subject.  

"Yes," Credence responded.  His eyes on the tablecloth.  He picked up the shot glass, again.  Took another small sip.

"Is she the child I'm looking for? The one I spoke to you about," Graves asked. "I... I'll protect her, if she is. I know you love her."

Credence shook his head, slowly.  His shoulders hunching as he tried to shrink into his chair. "It's not her."

"You'll tell me when you find the child?"

"I will."

"I..." Graves looked for words of comfort.  Found none. "I'm happy that you and I are alike, Credence."

Credence smiled over the shot glass he was holding to his lips, again.  His eyes met Percival's. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, before.  I... I wasn't sure. Not really."

"You just told me. Showed me, even," Graves replied.  Doing his best to convey patience and understanding. "I'll always wait for when you're ready to talk to me.  No rush.  Your pace is my pace."

 

* * *

 Credence asked about books, again.  His second shot of whiskey making him bolder. Again, Graves balked at Credence's mention of sex and practically begged the boy to stop. Again, Credence had the audacity to ask who would report them.

The boy nodded toward the stage.  Commented on the distant display. The lady singing kept leaning against her female bassist.  Her movements sensual.  He nodded toward the kitchen door.  Two waiters kept touching each other's hands as they passed.  Longing looks into each other's eyes.  He turned his fork toward another table.

"The man that came in with him hasn't left the room.  He's underneath the table," Credence said. His teeth showing as he smiled. "What can he be doing, Mr. Graves?"

Graves's expression was tight-lipped as he looked around the room.  Waiting for proof of every observation Credence had made. It wasn't long before he saw similar.  Even the gentleman at the other table seemed flushed.  Distracted.  

"My mother says speakeasies are dens for drunks, witches, loose women, and sodomites," Credence said.  His large eyes wide and grinning.  Graves could see the boy was leaning over the table. His bottom no longer touching his seat.  His voice trembling with excitement.  Cheeks flushed. Hips squirming. "She's always warned me to stay away... lest I lose my eternal soul."

"Are you," Graves didn't know what to ask.  The words had a finality to them.  Credence believed the woman.  Yet, the boy didn't seem upset. "Should I not have brought you here?"

"Oh, Mr. Graves, I love it!"

Credence dropped to the floor, Graves almost stood to look over the table but he suddenly felt hands on his lap.  Pressed against both thighs.  So unbearably close to his cock which had began to harden, again, at Credence's second mention of dirty books.

Wildly inappropriate.  Intensely arousing.  Percival Graves felt his stomach flip.  His mind blank.  He knew he should stop the boy.  Put the boy back into his seat before the waiter came with the food they'd ordered. Yet, like a stag in headlights, he couldn't make himself move.  The shock petrified him.

"Credence," Graves whispered to his lap.  The boy moved the tablecloth up and over Percival's legs. Peeked up at him. "You shouldn't just... touch people."

Graves realized he was trembling.  Just seeing Credence's happy face look up at him from between his thighs was enough to make him fully hard.  Make him twitch beneath his slacks.  Two pale hands slid into view.  Reaching for the buttons of his fly. "Credence, you have to get permission. Don't just assume."

Credence laughed at him. Again, flippant. It was as if the only authority in his world was his mother... and she wasn't here.  Credence had a knack for pleasure. For bestowing it.  For taking it. "Alright, I'm asking. Let's see if you can say no, then."

Graves bit his lip. He'd always wanted this.  To be forcibly dragged toward debauchery.  To convince himself he'd had no choice.  His mind supplied him with fantasies of his cock disappearing between Credence's lips. Credence's hands slid away from the buttons he'd undone and rubbed down Graves's thighs. 

 "Go on, then," Credence suggested.  His eyes still locked on Percival's flushed face. His right hand slid into view.  Just hovering over Grave's crotch. "Tell me not to touch you.  You always do.  Make me stop just before I can have my fun."

"I always make sure it's good for you," Graves responded.  Trying not to shiver as his covered cock flexed toward Credence's hand.

"I want to be a sinner, Mr. Graves," Credence laughed.  His voice dropping in tone.  Nostrils flaring. "Like a loose woman. Like a witch. You're a sodomite. When are you going to make me one, too?"

"Credence, that word, we don't u..."

"It's an angry word, isn't it?" Credence used his other hand to grip Percival's thigh.  Hard. Pain flaring as his fingers dug into muscled flesh. "Sounds criminal. Biblical. Like something you should be punished for." 

The thought of Credence punishing him sent a fissure of pleasure up his spine.  He'd tried to be gentle with Credence, but the boy always asked for pain.  Fingers gripping his delicate throat. Fists pulling at his mop of hair. One time, while Credence had him pressed to a wall.  Frotting against him and crying with pleasure, Graves had lost his senses just long enough to slap the boy's ass through his trousers.  Had immediately realized what trauma the gesture might stir and apologized.  Credence had pulled on his scarf, grinding harder against him, started to blow cum into his still buttoned pants and begged, "Mr. Graves, hit me.  Hit me harder. Again! Again!"

The boy was always drunk on sensation.  Brought to shuddering tears at the smallest hint of arousal.  ...and, now, the boy was also literally drunk.

Graves knew he should discourage this.  Make sure Credence was fed.  Return Credence to Barebone house.  Never lure Credence into an alley, again.  Yet, the bloated cock Credence's hand hovered over and the knowledge that this boy was full of wild, untrained magic made Graves want to keep him.  Own him even though he didn't deserve such passion and beauty in his life.

"Are you going to punish me, Credence?"

"No," the boy said.  Realizing with Percival's low tone that the older man had stopped fighting.  His hand pressed against Graves's hard cock.  The older man hissed with pleasure. "I want to earn my punishments.  What does a boy get for making Mr. Graves all wet and sticky at a speakeasy?"

Graves huffed out a breath and let his legs fall open.  Allowing Credence to nestle close, on his knees.  He slid his wand out of the hidden pocket at his hip and put a silencing charm on their table.  He didn't know how to make the boy invisible.  Didn't remember how to conceal him at all.  It was the best he could do.

Credence moved his head back.  Let the tablecloth fall from his hair to conceal both him and Grave's open pants.  Graves tried to contain a sigh of pleasure as deft, skinny fingers pulled him from his smallclothes.  He wondered what Credence thought of his cock.  The length.  The girth.  He had a larger cock than most.  Pink and unblemished though darkening with arousal. Barely touched in all his years of life.  Graves liked the agony of self-denial almost as much as the act, itself.

He shivered, bunching his hand in a napkin on the table as Credence gave the head of his cock an experimental lick.  Likely taking in his salty precum to see if he liked it. The timid lick was followed by a bolder one.  This one swirling and heavy.  Graves whimpered and then took a deep breath to calm himself.  Perhaps he was too sensitive to allow this in public.  

One of Credence's hands stroked precum and saliva down his shaft as the other playfully fondled his sack.  The boy, at least, knew to be gentle, there.  The pads of his fingers smoothing over the delicate skin as his tongue continued to collect the moisture leaking from Graves's tip.

He wanted to fuck this boy.  Sink their bodies into a mattress and ream him thoroughly.  Pull the boy's head back by his hair and lick the tears from his cheeks.  Tell him how gorgeous he was.  Graves had never seen Credence naked.  Knew that the boy's pale body was riddled with scars.  Knew he'd find the scars just as pretty as his perfect face.

He lifted the tablecloth, himself.  Looked down into his lap and saw Credence's lips shining in the dim light. "You look wonderful, like this."

Credence paused in his sucking, but not the stroking.  He grinned. Flippant. "Wonderful like what? With a cock in my mouth?"

"Exactly, that," Graves countered.  Knowing Credence had expected something nicer.  The boy chuckled and slid the head of Percival's cock between his reddening lips.  Sucked hard at the sensitive glans and laughed around it as Graves nearly jumped out of his seat. He let the tortured tip pop out of his mouth.

"Hurts?"

"Yes.  Good job," Graves responded.  He let the tablecloth drop to hide Credence, again.  Looked around to make sure they weren't attracting any suspicious glances.

He'd done so just in time because the waiter approached with their food.  "Has your son stepped away?"

"Son!?" Graves heard from under the table.  He moved his leg slightly to bump his knee against Credence.  Hopefully convincing him not to talk.  The silencing charm might not work with the waiter so close. Credence took his cockhead into his mouth, once more.  Tongue massaging the ridged underneath.  Pressing along sensitive veins.

"Yes, he's stepped out for a moment.  Should be back, soon," Graves said to the waiter through a wincing smile.  He then had to cover a moan with a coughing fit as his cock hit the back of Credence's throat.  The boy coughed and sputtered, himself.  The pleasure racketed through Percival's body, but he couldn't let it be obvious.

"He's a fashionable, young man," the waiter said.  Making conversation because he assumed Graves might be bored or lonely. "I'm sure you're very proud of him."

It suddenly made sense why the other waiter had allowed him to see beneath the wards.  If the staff thought he was eating in a speakeasy and drinking illegal whiskey with his son, of all people, they probably thought he was from some family involved in organized crime.  Merlin, what would they think if anyone found out his -son- was underneath the table dragging his tongue up the side of his cock.

The waiter listened as Graves said something pleasant but dismissive and then left him to his silent table.

One of Credence's hands fumbled at the tablecloth and Graves lifted it, again.  He looked down to see his cock, long enough to span Credence's face from his chin to his forehead, pressed against the boy's cheek.  Credence stroked the side of his cock with an open palm as if petting some kind of domesticated animal.  It was an odd image.  As awkward as the boy had always been.  It thrilled Percival.

"So, Daddy," Credence began.  The boy paused to laugh when Grave's cock jumped at the word.  Thumping against his nose on impact.  Credence pulled it back to his cheek. "Daddy, you taste very good.  I hope we can do this every time I see you."

There had been a bead of precum sliding down the side of Percival's cock as Credence spoke and the boy's tongue darted out to meet it.  A smiling moan.  His tongue pressed against Grave's cock to gather up the entire trail.  Percival's precum started to run white.  Slow, thick dribbles of cum forming on his head as he watched Credence enjoy the flavor of his lust.

"You... you shouldn't call me that," Graves responded breathlessly. The fingers on one of his hands gripping at Credence's hair.  Tugging him away from his sensitive cock. His throat barely working as he squirmed in his seat.  His eyes cut around the room to, again, make sure nobody noticed his desperation.  He heard Credence hiss as he pulled his hair.

"But I'm your little boy," Credence feigned a pout.  His hand wrapping around Percival's cock to stroke him, again. "You're teaching me so many fun things, Daddy."

Graves realized Credence's hips were pumping up and down.  That the hand not holding his cock was down in the boy's lap.  The boy enjoyed calling him Daddy.  Enjoyed being his little boy.  The thought made Graves unbearably guilty.

And guilt made Percival want to cum.

That he'd make a fetish of the younger man's beautiful face, his inability to contain his pleasure, and his scars were one thing.  To get off on their age difference, quite another.  Percival could hear the swift and slick beating of Credence's hand torturing his own cock.  Credence had a darker cock than his own, but shorter.  Thinner.  A beautifully straight needle that he sometimes dreamt of swallowing whole.  The boy would cry out so desperately as he throatfucked Graves.  And now... Oh, fuck, now he'd think of the boy yanking at his hair and calling him Daddy as he blew a load into his gullet. 

"Daddy's little boy needs to put his mouth back on my cock before I make a mess of his face," Graves instructed.  Deciding to play along.  One hand gripping Credence's hair as the other held the edge of the table.  His cock was still steadily leaking.  Already making a mess of Credence's sweater vest. He wondered if any of his precum had dripped onto Credence's lap to mingle with the moisture, there.

"But, daddy, I want to see you cum," Credence begged.  "Please, daddy.  Don't make me hide it.  I want to see how much you like this. Please show me, Daddy."

Credence was crying, again.  His face slick with tears and Grave's precum.  His tongue dragged up the underside of Grave's cock.  Taking in more of the mess Percival couldn't help making.

"Are you close, my boy?"

"Yes," Credence whined.  His eyes closing and hand going still as he concentrated on his own pleasure.  Graves let go of Credence's hair and wrapped a hand over the fingers Credence still had gripping his cock.  Pressing hard and guiding, he pulled the boy's hand rapidly up and down his shaft.  He hoped nobody would look.  Had forgotten to cast a Notice-Me-Not charm.  Lifting his bottom slightly off the chair, he angled his cock at the face he could only just make out in the dim lights. Tear-glittered eyes opening up along with jizz-wet lips.

Graves's whole body shook as the first shot of seed surged out of him.  Credence froze and shuddered almost simultaneously, his own jism making a mess beneath Percival's chair.

"Fuck," Credence cried as Graves painted his face in impressive ropes.  One of his eyes pasted shut and his lips and nose dripping.  Graves settled back into his seat as he used Credence's hand to squeeze the last droplets from his tip.  He always liked when Credence cursed.  It was rare and gave him the same naughty thrill everything else about Credence gave him.

"Don't use your wand, yet," Credence asked.  Graves had let go of his hand and the boy rightfully guessed it was going to his hip. "I like it... feels disgusting.  So warm."

I like it... feels disgusting.

Graves chuckled.  They were too similar.  Wires crossed in their heads where everything they shouldn't do felt fucking fantastic and all other things bled into the monotony of life.

"I wish I could kiss you, right now," Credence said.  His tongue clearing the cum from his lips as he dragged his fingers through the rivulets raining down his cheeks. 

Percival wanted that, too.

"Next time," Graves promised as he cleared their cum from each other and the floor. "...my little boy."

Credence smiled over at him as he climbed back into his chair.  Percival Graves was coming to the realization that Credence knew, for all his lack of worldly experience, that he, not Graves, was the one in charge.  That Graves would follow him to the ends of the Earth.  Always desperate to make the boy happy. 

* * *

 

Grindelwald's patience started to fray.  Graves explained, over and over, that Credence was surrounded by children in the appropriate age-range.  That it could be one of 100s.  What Graves didn't explain was that the no-maj Grindelwald had shared visions of was secretly a wizard, himself.  What Graves didn't explain was that he'd kill Grindelwald or die trying if the man ever harmed Credence.

Thankfully, he realized, Grindelwald thought the boy was useful.  Percival was finding out that useful people got to live.

Smiling, the revolutiona... dark. Graves had started to correct himself.  What he'd hoped was the light of revolution was turning out to be a thirst for blood. He could see it in Grindelwald's eyes.  Read it in his actions. Smiling, the dark wizard had implied that perhaps Credence was distracted by Graves.

Perhaps they should trade places.

The idea of Grindelwald laying hands on his boyfriend turned Percival's stomach.  

Because, that's what Credence... young, earnest, and enthralling little Credence had become, to him.  A partner.  One he'd never let go of.

Chuckling, Grindelwald told Graves that he hoped for a breakthrough, soon. Let the man go with his life and identity in tact.


End file.
